bare [h.s.]

The Diner

"So, how are your academics?"
My father asks with a mouthful
of ketchup-drenched curly fries.
I wrinkle my nose at him,
tossing a soggy pickle across the table that lands on his shoulder.

"Hasn't anyone ever told you not
to speak with food in your mouth?
It's gross," I stick my tongue out
in pretend disgust, and he sends
me a big grin of mushy fries.

"You're gross," He teases, chasing
a gulp of soda down his gullet.
I mumble a quiet 'mature'
that he fails to notice, and pick
at the crusty bun that sits atop
my burnt burger.

"School sucks. Fellow peers suck.
That's about it," I shrug, stuffing
a handful of fries into my mouth.

"That's the spirit," He says,
biting down on his sandwich.
Once again, he opens his already
full mouth to talk.
"Any cute boys?"

I choke on a swig of soda,
resulting in a series of coughs.
He raises his brow, setting his
food down for the first time.

"Boys? Good one Dad," I laugh out loud, but he can see right through my fit of fake laughs.

"I used to be a boy myself,
believe it or not," He folds
his hands together, resting them
on the surface in front of him.

"You're not a male anymore?"
I tease, chewing on the tip
of my straw.

"Sadly, your mother took away
my manhood long ago," He smiles,
but his expression quickly fades
into a serious frown.
"All jokes aside, I want you to
be careful around boys."

I nod slowly, looking down at
the meal before me.
Avoiding another awkward
talk with my parent,
I focus on the disastrous food.
The lettuce is in the process
of turning a light brown,
the juicy tomato is soiling the meat, which was already ruined
by the black edges.
My hat's off to the chef.

"Do you know those boys?"
My father's voice brings me
back to reality as I push
the plate away.

"Dad, why do you think I know
every teenager we see in public--"
My sarcastic remark is cut short
by the two hooligans walking
into the diner.

I turn my back away from them,
staring out of the window beside
us. Out of the corner of my eye,
I watch them be seated at the counter across from our booth.
My father notices my behavior,
giving me a swift kick to the shin underneath the table.

"Sawyer," He says,
and I glare back at him.

"The weather is just so lovely out,
don't you agree?" I say lowly,
pleading for him to be quiet.

"Sawyer," He says louder,
trying to get their attention.
"If you want to go talk to those
hunks, you have my permission."

As if on cue, they turn around in
their swivel chairs to face us.
I shoot my dad a dirty look
and his lips send an evil grin back.
He must have a death wish.

I throw on my best fake smile
and scoot out of the booth.
"Harry! Didn't see you there."